


“Teach me?”

by thenorthernwastrel



Category: Fable (Video Games), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Memories, Post-Reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23294533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenorthernwastrel/pseuds/thenorthernwastrel
Summary: The Hero wasn't the only young one Walter had helped train.
Relationships: Walter Beck & Logan (Fable)
Kudos: 5





	“Teach me?”

_“Teach me?”_  


_Walter looked back at the growing prince, catching his breath. He’d really did a number on that dummy, and an unfamiliar pain began settling in his back as he lowered his sword._

_“Wouldn’t you rather Sparrow teach you? They’re your_ parent _, after all.”  
_

_The boy was diligent, stiff. “They aren’t here, and won’t be back until next month. Why can’t you teach me now?”_

_Walter rubbed at the back of his neck. Because he didn’t want the boy to get hurt on his account, because he wasn’t even sure if he could teach a_ boy _to handle something like a sword in the first place. Because he didn’t want to get in_ trouble _. “Well I could, but… Look, I don’t want them getting the wrong idea. Being able to teach your own child to fight alongside you is a brilliant opportunity.”_

_Logan crossed his arms, and stifled the urge to huff in impatience. Walter watched him mull it over in his head, obviously displeased but not wanting to display any more emotion than absolutely necessary. Just what was it that made him look so uncomfortable all the time?_

_Finally, he turned to the knight confidently. “Technically, with the ruling monarch away, I am in charge of you.”_

_Ah, so it was going to be like that. “Yes, and I’m sure ‘_ the ruling monarch _’ will have a lot to say about that when they get back as well.” Though he sounded stern, Walter was smiling._

_Logan seemed not to notice. He stood still, at a loss for words. It seemed he’d been had._

_Walter sighed, giving in. Obviously something was troubling the young one that he had no control over. Likely he simply wanted to blow off some steam; the knight could relate, though for someone not versed in the art of swordplay, it was going to prove more frustrating than it was worth._

_“All right, go pick out a sword. But don’t tell Sparrow.”  
_

_The prince’s head snapped in his direction, eyes wide in wonderment. Without missing a beat he ran over to the weapons, fearing Walter would change his mind if he hesitated at all._

__Walter watched in amusement while_ the child–well, teenager now, he supposed–of course, picked out one of the biggest swords on the display. His thin arm struggled to even lift it off the rack, and he tentatively put it back._

_“Now I don’t want to patronize you lad, but you’ll need to start off with something you can lift and swing easily. Try that one there.” The knight gestured a large hand to one of the smallest blades._

_Logan looked to him incredulous. “I think I am quite old enough to have something larger than_ that _.” Defensiveness. Insecurity.  
_

_“Yes, perhaps,” Walter answered patiently, “but to start off with let’s pick something simple, and easy. For_ my _benefit—You understand?”  
_

_He wasn’t happy with it, but did as he was told, grabbing a comically small blade at the bottom of the lineup. It was heavier than it looked, at least, but it was probably just due to his lean frame._

_He held it out and then looked to Walter, who was giving him a moment to adjust to the feeling of something like that in his hand. Really, if it were up to him he would have started the lad off with a_ stick _, but he knew Logan would never have had it._

_“What do I do now?” The young Logan looked up to him, eyes wide again, expectant. Walter almost swore he could see the hint of an excited smile tugging upward at his mouth, but he’d hate to embarrass the young man by pointing it out.  
_

_“First of all, let’s talk stances…”  
_

* * *

The ex-tyrant looked at the blade at the back of his wardrobe, wondering just how it had gotten there. It had been decades since he saw the thing, and years longer since he’d touched it. Slowly he reached for it, surprised to find no traces of dust or dirt on its hilt.

The memories flitted in and out of his mind, of the training sessions with the knight in that month, the frustration and occasional _tears_ it had wrought. And of Sparrow eventually, _inevitably_ , finding out. Of their pride when Walter’s training proved itself when he showed them his skill, finally having permission to graduate to a proper sword.

Why had he kept it? Had someone put it there? He couldn’t recall. It was a silly thing to keep, and he should be rid of it, or at least put it away in the castle’s storage, where it could remain for future use. 

Holding it in his hand, just as he had that day, he closed his eyes. He could hear Walter’s voice telling him to watch his step, his laughter at his fall; his pained voice as they both cried at Sparrow’s bedside, of him giving the monarch’s eulogy. He saw his smiling face the day he and the other hero returned home from their first hunting trip, and his irate expression when he first refused to tell him of the events of his expedition to Aurora, and just why he’d returned _alone_.

He saw all the years condensed into a second. He saw the knight’s funeral, something he still couldn’t understand why he was invited to.

But he saw nothing he found any point in dwelling on.

He placed the sword on the room’s bed carefully, and continued packing for the new life he was to lead away from his past.


End file.
